Days Like These
by The-Turducken-Affairs
Summary: Sometimes the brothers realize how unusual they are. Not all of these revelations come from what their day jobs have made them become. Today is Mother's Day. (A few blatant references to events leading up to early season 7). All of the genres: Hurt/Comfort, Family, and Friendship.


**Disclaimer: Supernatural ain't mine.**

**Warning: Some swearing. Also, spoilers up to the first couple of episodes in Season 7.**

**A/N: Okay guys, so I wrote this because it's Mother's Day. This is an acknowledgement to a different sort of Mother's Day, because not everyone has the same experience (take for instance, our boys).**

**I also wanted to show the brothers in a different light. They deal with things differently than most people. This is how I think that works.**

**Also, I'm not trying to show Dean in a bad light if that's the interpretation any of you have. :)**

**Read, enjoy, review! :D**

* * *

On days like these, Dean looks away.

He sees his brother, he sees the dude manning the counter at gas station of the day #4, he sees a smiling family walking off in the distance- and he looks away.

These sorts of days don't come often, but they are an all-encompassing sort of day and it goes to show how things don't really change all that much. The core of who he is- not the things that made him into what he is now, grizzled and hard against the monsters who spray blood against his blades- but the _kid_ who grew up with duty and loyalty on the weary lines of his shoulders.

Out of all of these sorts of days, this specific day is special for all of the reasons that it is not.

Take, for instance, how Dean gets up, shoves his sock up Sam's nose in a brotherly '_get the hell up_' fashion, and goes to get them coffee (which he gets by using their biweekly stolen credit card- stolen cards used to have a longer lifespan, but companies are getting smart and everything is tracked nowadays).

So yeah, totally normal. But, kind of not.

* * *

Sometimes Sam remembers the day long before it happens. Because, it's kind of like an event, a slow motion action sequence coming right at you. Other times he forgets or realizes in a sort of belated after thought, as though it has swept right on by (a stinging blast of flame), because it doesn't involve him.

This time, Sam is not caught off guard.

He has had plenty of time to think on it. Not, that he has any plans or courses of actions (what would the point in that be, on days like these?), but he has a slow melting of everything that makes him whole, and he is raw.

If possible, Dean is rawer.

Sam knows on days like these that it is best to leave Dean to simmer in misery (something that only Dean is capable of doing so thoroughly) and drink. Sam hopes that's what Dean is up to, at least.

Honestly though, he hasn't seen Dean since Dean had pummeled Sam with odorous footwear and stiffly slung along a path across the street. "_Coffee_," was the remark Dean had thrown over his shoulder.

Sam goes to his laptop and looks for a case. He knows it's pointless to try and distract Dean with one today, but Sam likes to have something in his back pocket for better bad days (like tomorrow when Dean will be stone cold hung-over and weighed down with that hangover on top of another hangover).

* * *

He admits it. He's moping.

Seriously though, who the hell cares? He figures that in a long line of doing what's right for the Winchester name and the people he loves most who go under this category, he's allowed some days to feel sorry for himself. It's kind of like one of those paid vacations that cubicle drones get. Only, Dean gets as many as he wants and he doesn't have to suck up to the boss to pull one out of the hands of some employee who has seniority.

Except, you know, he doesn't really have much of a say because the world goes to hell on a pretty unregulated and extremely productive schedule. But, whatever, that's just a technicality and totally not his point anyways.

Back to it though.

He knows he's no good under a roof and being raised by mortgage payers, but he sometimes wishes for it anyways.

There's not much to wishing unless you've got a Djinn on call (which happened one time, but he kind of got the life almost completely sucked out of him and he was a drunken loser with a dead dad and an estranged brother), so Dean sucks it up.

For the most part.

Dean's still going to drink (A LOT) and hopefully someone will break the camel's back with their cocktail stirring straw.

* * *

Sam is still typing away on his laptop when the sun reaches midpoint to going back down and it's late afternoon.

"Sam."

Sam is no longer typing away on his laptop, but rather, falling down sideways as the shit is scared out of him.

"Cas?!" Sam kind of gasps, but also yelps and pushes out with a strangled voice (and it's all sorts of beautiful if you're an angel who appreciates the variance in sound waves, but otherwise it's just really, really sad and pretty laughable).

"Sam. I found a… case." Cas responds, no prelude to what's been going on in Heaven, but a definitely suspicious pause in his voice that could be anything from hiding things to a simple cultural clash.

Sam doesn't really care at the moment. He's off the clock.

"We're kind of in the middle of something today, Cas." Sam lets out, a little unwilling to share details, but knowing that it's mostly harmless information that won't let Cas in on what the little problem of today is.

Cas does that thing where he looks around and blinks slowly, like a cat, but with less whiskers and not as cute as my cats- ahem. And Sam knows that Cas is an angel and pretty dogged on top of that, but Sam will never understand how looking blankly at thin air can give answers to any sort of meaningful questions. Still, that's what Cas does and Sam almost hates him for it. Except, not really, because Cas is (usually) on their team, and looks like a harmless (feral) kitten- and Sam does not count the times when Castiel fights, stabs things with his angel knife, or eats up souls like there's a bogo for them at Target against this point, because everyone's been there before.

The point is, Cas catches on quick and says, "Dean's been drinking."

And Sam wants to let it be because that's true and it is, in fact, a little distressing, but then Cas adds on to that, "It's Mother's Day."

Sam lets out a big whopping breath. So much for privacy and family issues staying within the family.

Cas looks at him curiously, as if he knows what Sam is thinking and is discerning why Sam thinks that is. Then Cas's gaze flies to the door and Sam knows what's about to happen.

Slam!

Yup, there's Dean. And he's drunk.

Sam shoots Cas a look before turning to Dean.

Sam says, "Hey Dean."

Cas hangs back, towards the foot of Sam's bed on the opposite side of the door and Dean. Cas blinks slowly.

Dean blinks quickly, like he's afraid alcohol is about to come squirting out of his eyes. Who knows, maybe Dean's right.

There is silence for a couple of minutes in which Cas stands still, placid and alien, Sam follows Dean with his body turning, and Dean skulks towards the bathroom. That course of action doesn't last long though, because Cas has always had this kind of pull on Dean, for better or for worse, and today it is for worse.

So of course that means that Dean has to look back. He has to look at Cas, he has shoot him a stink eye glare, and he has to ask, "Whaddya want, Cas?" It's almost a snarl, a living, throbbing artifact of mourning and loss many times over.

Dean's wounds are fresh, always fresh, and he hasn't quite perfected the art of drowning his pain. He's gotten to the level of making the boundaries of his pain blur, swimming everywhere- in front of his eyes, through his nerves, firing with synapses and part of his frontal cortex.

"I came because I have a case for you." Cas says, always straight to the point, either believing that people can take of their own issues, or not realizing that they have to.

Dean's teeth worrying on his lips turns to a grimace for a flash of a second before becoming a snarl.

He says, "Figures. The freak gives the freaks problem after problem. A friggin' afterschool special I never wanted to see."

Sam steps in, because Dean is his responsibility just as much as it is the other way around.

"Dean," the warning is said coolly, damn near gentle except that Dean doesn't need gentle.

Dean whirls on Sam.

"What?! You don't care that friggin' robot of the rings over there is sending us on a quest where we won't know what's true and when he's just going to disappear?"

Sam gets it. He knows that Dean has to be angry, all the time, or he's not the man he needs to be. Sam knows Dean hurts and Sam can't make it better. Sometimes though, he can nudge things close to better.

Sam pushes through the bullshit and gets to the rusty truth, digging under Dean's skin and pushing all the right buttons.

"Dean. Just because Mom's gone doesn't mean everyone leaves."

This makes Dean whirl back to Sam, laser eyes set to incinerate and targeted right on Sam. If Dean were one for getting red in the face, that's where he'd be right now. As it is, he's drunk and spitting mad and yelling things that he shouldn't.

"You left! Hell, even Dad left once he was done with his second choice soldier. Oh yeah, can't forget how you left _again_, or the time after that, or the time after that one!"

Sam turns his head for a second, lets out the breath he was holding. He knows how to work with this.

Earnestly, he says, "Dean, you know that's not true! I went to college, that's it. Besides, I'm here now."

And Sam knows he needs to get around to this point, let it all fall apart for Dean to uncork.

He says, "Face it Dean. Mom's gone."

And it's quiet. Cas is still by the bed, watching with a face practically sculpted from stone. Dean is tightlipped, working on a tugging frown.

He walks up to Sam, slowly and with each move easily tracked. He reaches Sam, looks at the door and back to Sam.

He takes a swing.

* * *

The motel is shit and it's pretty evident by the fact that their questionable mini fridge has no cooling system to speak of and is home to a few moldy sandwiches.

This means that when Sam starts to sport a pink cheek that will undoubtedly be swollen by tomorrow as well as turn some pretty impressive colors if Sam doesn't find something cold to stick on said cheek, Sam has to go out.

He walks to the gas station (which is luckily nearby) with Cas and buys a bag of frozen peas.

Now, Sam never really knows what Cas is thinking, but right now he's especially not privy to Cas's angelic thoughts. Sam and Cas are friendly, and pretty close considering that they've been through life and death together (Literally. Cas's ability to swing by Hell is also a big help with this.), but Sam's not sure if they're friends. Even so, they make small talk and Cas says some vaguely profound, if not socially or culturally aware, things. In return, Sam patiently explains aspects of the 21st century that Cas will never have enough time to learn for himself.

When they get back to the motel, Sam keeps walking past their room and goes for the dumpster behind the building.

The grass is dying, there are large patches of dirt taking up most of the lot, and the dumpster is actually pretty clean. Not that Sam cares, but it is a mildly better sitting spot than it could have been.

So, this is where they are when they have a new conversation. This one is personal and they're side by side on top of Old Green-

"Sam. I have been wondering for the past hour." Castiel's face squishes up from what could be confusion or his vessel's physical reaction to the brightness of the sun from here.

Sam is loose and mellow. He swings his legs, occasionally kicking the dumpster with the backs of his feet and says, "About what?" It's an unnecessary question, because Sam knows what Cas is talking about, but it's the only decent response Sam has.

"Why do you do that? Why do you let Dean pile the blame on you?"

Cas searches for the next part of what he wants to say carefully. Sam waits.

"It is my understanding that relationships take sacrifice; that, in order to protect the ones you love, you sometimes need to take on their pain as your own. I understand that the Winchesters share an especially profound ability to do this. But why, when you are aching just as much as Dean, do you take on more of his pain?"

Sam leaves the question for a couple of seconds, but he already has then answer. He says, simply and almost as if it really is just like this, "I didn't know her."

He looks down at the pea bag he dropped on his lap not too long ago and laughs. A short, unreal huff.

"She was your mother too."

Sam is still smiling when he answers, shrugging jerkily, "I never got homemade pie. I don't remember the yelling, or dad ever coming back after a night of drinking. It's not a part of me. Not like it is for Dean."

Sam looks right below the sun, still seeing spots from it. He adds on, "Dean earned this day."

And it's quiet for a long while.

* * *

Days like those pass quickly. It's fast and furious, shocking but almost sweet in their shortness.

Almost short enough not to leave marks.

The day after the specific day of all of the days like those, Dean comes back. He strolls into the room, looser and nearly unbearable in his smugness. Sam knows what Dean did to unwind last night. He'd kind of figured Dean would find a different place to sleep.

The morning passes with Dean eyeing Sam and being of particularly more use than general. This is especially evidence when Dean helps Sam pack up their duffels, tosses a bottle of water and banana to Sam- a sort of gift and jab, because bananas are all sorts of gay according to Dean- and they are ready to leave quicker than when it is just Sam packing up with Dean throwing dirty clothes at him. All that's left is for Dean to shower (because really, he needs one).

Sam leaves the room and is leaning against the Impala, not even thirty seconds into waiting for Dean to finish suds-ing up, when Cas appears.

There are no greetings, nor segue into what Cas is up to.

Cas just says, as if they are still in the middle of yesterday's conversation, "Do you know who Anna Jarvis is?"

Sam almost chuckles, but just answers back plainly instead, "No."

"Many call her the Mother of Mother's Day. It is said that she founded Mother's Day- a not entirely accurate sentiment, as this has been an idea celebrated long into the past of your kind- but, she was an integral part of its history."

Cas stops and looks at Sam. He makes eye contact, as if he recently learned that this is what you do when you are imparting wisdom.

Cas finishes with, "_The person who has done more for you than anyone in the world_. That's what she believed a mother was. I'm not entirely sure Dean is alone in deserving to honor that."

And Castiel is gone, thirty seconds before Dean makes his appearance outside the door of the motel room.

And Sam knows that it's probably idealization of a ghost whose flaws marked Sam forever, but he feels like maybe he knew her through a lifetime of her trailing alongside Dad and through Dean growing up right for her sake.

"Get in the car, bitch," Dean tosses the comment at Sam as he hops into the driver's seat of Impala.

Sam unthinkingly says, "Jerk," and they're off to their new case- incidentally, it just so happens to be the one Cas wanted them to take.

* * *

_Thank you mom for, if not creating the entire world, creating my world._

_I love you and happy Mother's Day._


End file.
